


the weight of a life

by Livinei



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (and he gets it), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, i'll add tags and fix typos later, there's a background character who dies but it's not very graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 04:09:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17216735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinei/pseuds/Livinei
Summary: “Help!” the kid cried, and Peter thought he couldn't have been more than 17.But now he had to choose, and in a split second Peter did, heart aching.“Hold on,” he gasped half to the hanging boy (who couldn’t have possibly heard him), half to himself as he made his way to the mother and child in seconds, struggling to catch the roof panel before it could crush them.Just a second-Peter's blood froze as the boy's grip slipped and a guttural scream cut through his ears.orPeter has superhero guilt about a boy he couldn't save. Tony (and a random little Mexican kid on the street) help.





	the weight of a life

**Author's Note:**

> I've written better but not everything has to be perfect. Also it's 1am and I'm tired af  
> anyways, I hope you enjoy this!

It was mayhem. And Peter wasn’t even part of the big fight, that was Tony’s job, Peter was just helping the civilians down below. Or trying to.

He quickly let go of the web he’d been holding so he could avoid the bent metal rod that’d been hurled in his direction and found himself freefalling for about two seconds before shooting out another line of web and pulling himself to safety.

The guy they were up against called himself the Destructor. Tony called him the Grinch, for popping up four days before the 24th and demolishing the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree among other things. He wasn’t really that good, Peter thought, but his suit was gigantic, durable, and well-armed, and that was a sturdy formula for collateral damage and lives needing to be saved. So while Iron Man was busy with the Destructor, Peter was getting the people out of there.

And boy, did he have his hands full.

“Watch out!” he yelled out at a running man, shooting a web at him and pulling him off the trajectory of a stray energy beam that then blasted a small crater into the sidewalk where the man had just been.

“Thanks,” he breathed, but Peter was already pushing him forward.

“Go, run, that way!”

It was hectic, but it was manageable. Peter could deal with this.

Until the Destructor crashed into a building, making a good half of it start to collapse like a card house.

Peter gritted his teeth, bolting from his spot like lightning and trying to web up as much debris as he could before it had time to hit the ground and possibly hit someone.

“How's it going down there?” he barely noticed a slightly staticy but familiar voice say to him.

“Peachy, thanks,” he managed to chuckle, hands moving faster than his conscious could keep up, “You do like to keep me busy here though, huh.”

“Can't have you slacking off when the city's being destroyed by a… giant green rage monster? Hm, maybe the Grinch was a wrong nickname,” Tony paused and Peter saw in his peripheral vision how the (admittedly green-tinted, now that he thought about it) giant arm blasted an array of fire at Tony's figure. Peter thought he heard a slight grumble of _you think I can build a suit able to withstand my own weapons in a cave from scraps but somehow can't make_ this _suit fireproof,_ and what sounded suspiciously like _amateur_ , but decided to tune out then because suddenly there were more pressing matters.

A scream made Peter whip his head towards where it came from. On the ground was a woman with what looked like a sprained ankle, clutching a little girl to her chest and Peter watched with horror as a piece of a business building’s roof came hurtling down above them. But before he could make a move, another cry caught his attention, and he saw a boy barely hanging onto the side of the building that the Destructor had smashed into, hanging at about the fourth floor's height.

_Oh god, there were still people inside._

“Help!” the kid cried, and Peter thought he couldn't have been more than 17.

But now he had to choose, and in a split second Peter did, heart aching.

“Hold on,” he gasped half to the hanging boy (who couldn’t have possibly heard him), half to himself as he made his way to the mother and child in seconds, struggling to catch the roof panel before it could crush them.

_Just a second-_

Peter's blood froze as the boy's grip slipped and a guttural scream cut through his ears.

“ _No!_ ” Peter cried out, grunting before throwing the roof panel from his arms, but it was too late.

Any other time the sudden size of dinner plates his mask’s eye lenses took on would have been comical, but Peter could still hear the cracks of the bones shattering as they hit the asphalt, the sudden stopping of the heart that had been just rapidly beating, and this was far from comical. There was too much noise, but Peter couldn’t hear anything because the heart wasn’t beating, _the heart wasn't beating,_ and he was heaving in useless breaths that did nothing to supply him with oxygen. Something cold and heavy had filled all the space between his lungs and his veins were full of ice and he felt like he was going to throw up.

“Pete, you okay?” Tony’s voice said in his ear, pulling him back into reality. Peter tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

_Now- now isn’t the time._

“Yeah, I- yeah, fine,” he stammered, voice breaking for just a second.

“Are you hurt? Karen, is he hurt?”

“No, I’m okay,” he quickly said, and Karen, thankfully, confirmed. Tony was silent for a short moment, possibly busy fighting - _or maybe he heard your voice crack_ \- and Peter valiantly tried to gain control of his breaths.

“Stay focused,” was all Tony eventually said, his voice calm and steady despite the chaos swallowing him, and Peter clung to it.

“If it gets too much, web yourself back to the Tower. Nobody’s gonna judge you, kid. But as long as you’re out here you have to _be_ here, you can’t afford to lose focus. No matter what happens. Got it?”

Peter shook his head to get the unshed tears out of his eyes and shot a web at a falling piece of cement, pulling it away from the escaping people.

“Yeah, got it. I’m focused.”

 

Peter slumped against the side of a building. He wasn't entirely sure where he was, he'd just webbed himself away from the site as soon as Tony had gotten the Destructor under control and the people were safe.

He heard the sirens of ambulances rushing towards midtown Manhattan and slid down to the ground, pressing his head between his knees. The ground was cold and wet and covered with something that could just barely be called snow but Peter couldn’t have gotten up even if he’d wanted to.

_the_ scream _as the kid fell_

The tears streaming down his cheeks were burning him, and he wanted to claw at his chest for the gnawing, _horrible_ feeling it nested, and the cold winter air was crushing him and tearing him apart at the same time.

_crack, the body hitting the asphalt_

Could he have saved that boy? Could he have done more? Could he have been just a little faster? Should he have gone for him instead of the mother and the girl?  
Peter's sobs racked through his tired body as he hugged his knees closer.

"Are you okay?" a light voice asked, and Peter froze. He'd been cautious enough not to take off his mask before even though he'd been alone, but that didn't mean people seeing Spider-Man bawling in a dumpster street wouldn't be embarrassing.

He looked up and came face to face with a pair of shiny brown eyes and a mop of black curls. The boy was few years old at the most, he thought.

"How did you get here?" he asked, voice choked, trying desperately to get himself together. "Why are you alone? It’s dark out."

"My mamá is closing up her shop, she'll be out in a minute," the kid answered, studying him with wide curious eyes.

"Oh," Peter said, feeling his throat close up again against his will but managing to suppress the sob.

Sure enough, moments later a tired-looking woman rounded the corner.

"Sebastian?" she called out.

" _Aquí._ I think Spider-Man is sad, mamá," the kid, apparently Sebastian, replied.

"I'm okay," Peter hastily mumbled, pressing his back further against the cold wall behind him. He should get up.

The woman approached. She took the child's hand and as she studied Peter's shaking figure her face took on a more worried look.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice soft, and this time Peter couldn't hold his sob back. The mother crouched down near him but left him a little personal space which Peter was grateful for. She looked worn, but warm, and something about her reminded Peter a little of Aunt May.

"God. You seem so young," she sighed, almost as if to herself, and Peter hunched his shoulders.

"Well, I'm not old," he somehow managed to get out, feeling the tears spill from his eyes again. The woman was silent for a moment, only watched Peter cry, not daring to touch him.

"Can we help? Is there someone I can call for you?" she gently offered, but thankfully Peter didn't have to answer.

Sebastian's gasp indicated that Peter wasn't the only one hearing Iron Man nearing his hideaway, and soon enough the man descended behind Sebastian and his mother. Tony's suit bled away into his arc reactor and left just him. His steps echoed in the small street.

"Evening, Miss…?" he said, giving the woman a guarded smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Señora García. Good evening," she nodded, eyes wide and voice barely above a whisper. Tony shot a quick concerned look at Peter.

“Kid, you okay there?”

Peter gave him a weak nod.

"Spider-Man is sad," Sebastian repeated what he'd told his mom, pointing at Peter, and Peter thought again about how he should get up.

“Yes, he is,” Tony said, looking at the child with a slightly kinder expression.

“Why?” Sebastian asked, earnest eyes boring into Peter, and Peter felt his chest constrict.

“Well, I haven’t spoken to him yet. But he helped many people today. And I think he’s sad he couldn’t help all of them,” Tony replied quietly, bearing a strained smile.

“But he should be proud he helped some people,” Sebastian said, looking puzzled, like he didn’t quite understand. “My papá says that someone who actually helps just one person is better than someone who _plans_ to help a hundred. He also says _‘al mejor escribano se le va un borrón.’_ ”

“That’s enough, _cariño,_ ” his mother now softly said, proceeding to look at Tony with an apologetic look.

“Your papá is a wise man,” Tony lightly agreed, taking a few steps towards Peter now but raising his piercing eyes to the woman. She nervously looked between Peter and Tony, clutching Sebastian’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Mr Stark, my son found Spider-Man here, and I- I was just seeing if I could help somehow,” she hastily explained, all but shaking under Tony’s analytical gaze.

“I appreciate that,” Tony said after a short moment, and he looked like he really meant it, “But I’ve got it from here. And, uh, Sra García, was it?”

She nodded.

“This, what happened here. No photos, no papers, not even a tweet to your twelve inactive twitter followers, capisce?”

The threat in his warning was mild, but present.

“No, of course not,” Sra García whispered, and Tony’s posture relaxed.

“Very good. Gracias,” he hummed, looking at Sebastian for a second.

“Do you live far?” he suddenly asked, voice seeming too casual for the scenario, and señora García stared at him with evident surprise.

“Uh. So-so,” she replied, uncertain. “I’m used to it.”

“It’s late and it’s dark, a lady with a kid shouldn’t be walking home alone at night, especially after today’s fiasco. Certain people of dubious motives tend to thrive after disasters,” Tony tilted his head, vaguely waving his hand towards the other end of the street. “If you’ll wait in front of the shop - yours, I presume? - for about five minutes, ten tops, I’ll have someone here to take you home. Not an order or a request, just an offer. You can decline and be on your merry way. But now if you’ll excuse me, I have another one here who I got to get home.”

Tony and Peter both watched the two figures leave. As soon as they’d rounded the corner, Tony knelt down in front of Peter.

“Hey, kiddo,” he softly said, and Peter pulled his mask off, clenching his jaw. Tony’s heart ached at seeing the boy so… _broken_. Peter looked broken. His eyes were red from crying, his face wet from tears, and Tony figured he wouldn’t be too far off to guess Peter would be breaking down right now were he alone and somewhere private.

The self-blame Tony recognized in these eyes was something he was uncomfortably familiar with.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked, touching Peter’s forearm. Not grasping, just enough for Peter to feel it.

Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“Not now,” he finally whispered, and Tony nodded.

“Do you want to stay here?”

A shake of head, after a brief thought pause.

“Is May home?” Tony inquired, and stood up after another head shake, holding out his hand. Peter took it and let himself be pulled up.

“Stark Tower it is then,” he said, tapping his chest for the nanotech suit to envelop him again. Peter shouldn’t be alone right now.

 

“You did good today,” Tony remarked once it seemed he’d given Peter enough time undisturbed. He hadn’t wanted to talk at all before, so Tony had settled for whipping up some hot chocolate and just remaining in the same room as him. And although it hadn’t felt very helpful to Tony, Peter was grateful for the silent company.

Peter looked at him with a pained expression. Another day the praise would have made him beam, but now he felt sick.

“I didn’t- Someone died,” he croaked out, voice hoarse from all the swallowed tears. Tony gave him a carefully neutral look and sat down next to him.

“Yeah, I figured,” he sighed, keeping his voice level. “Pete, you can’t save everyone. It sounds shallow, it sounds awful, it sounds like an excuse, but it’s true. You can’t expect to save everyone all the time, you can’t tear yourself apart over every life you couldn’t save.”

_Hypocrite,_ his mind taunted. _Do as I say, not as I do, huh?_

“No,” Peter grimaced, barely waiting for Tony to finish talking, his voice an octave higher as he bit back a sob.

“It wasn’t- You don’t- If, if I’d been faster,” he nearly choked on his own breath, and Tony put a hand on his back, steadying the kid. Peter’s eyes were welled up again. “I let him fall, it was my fault, I could have- If I’d just…”

“Shh, okay,” Tony gently cut in, keeping his voice calm. _Right now you’re the only thing keeping him away from that bottomless pit he’s about to jump into. Be the adult._ “Why don’t you tell me what happened, alright? We'll go from there.”

Peter took in a shuddering breath and nodded. Leaning back into Tony’s hand, he hung his head and retold the events as best as he could. Tony remained quiet throughout, rubbing Peter’s back when he lost his voice and wiping away the tears every now and again.

He was quiet for a few moments after Peter had finished, gathering his thoughts.

“So, the way I heard it, you had half a second to make a decision, and you made a judgement call,” he stated, softly turning Peter towards him by the shoulders because hell if he’s going to let this kid not give what Tony has to say his full attention right now. And the desperate look in Peter’s eyes made Tony all the more determined to drive his point home.

“It’s horrible that that boy died, Peter, it feels awful, _I know._ But you didn’t _let him die_ , you were saving someone else. And your decision was logical! Had you gone for him first, a mother and a child would have died. A falling piece of metal doesn’t wait politely until you’re done catching someone on the other side of the street, but there was a chance _he_ might hold on for long enough.”

“But he didn’t,” Peter interrupted, voice broken again.

“No,” Tony agreed, a sad smile appearing on his lips, “he didn’t. But that wasn’t your fault.”

Peter didn’t answer him, but Tony didn’t need to be a genius to know he wasn’t convinced.

“Okay. Let’s try this,” he said after a moment of thinking, and Peter looked back up at him.

“Imagine something for me. Basically same situation. There’s a person with a child, unable to move, and something big and heavy falling at them from above. And then there’s you, hanging for your life from a fourth floor of a collapsing building. You’re the boy, you have no superpowers, no nothing, you’re an ordinary kid,” he waited until Peter nodded, an uncertain look coming onto his face, before continuing,

“And then there's me, I’m the superhero. I go for the woman with the kid,” _liar,_ he thinks, because he’d never leave Peter to fate’s arms like that and even the thought makes him cringe, but this is a hypothetical and he needs to make a point and the only way to do that is to take Peter away from his role, “because the odds for your survival if I get to you a few moments later are remarkably better than theirs. But you can’t hold on. You fall, and you die. I did my best, but you die, and if I’d been faster or gone for you first, you’d have lived. And by god, you know _I’m_ going to blame myself.”

Peter looks alarmed at this point, and Tony looks him straight in the eye.

“But do _you?_ Is it my fault that you die, Pete? Do you blame me?”

“No!” Peter exclaimed, looking horrified at even the thought, and Tony squeezed his arm.

“But it’s the exact same scenario,” he reminded him, and that makes Peter’s shoulders slump.

“But-”

“Peter. It’s not your fault,” Tony repeated, and wrapped the boy into a hug when his shoulders started shaking again.

“So what, am I supposed to just… not think about it? Not be devastated?” Peter mumbled, and Tony felt the hot tears soak through the shoulder of his shirt.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t devastated, kiddo,” he said into the kid’s hair, “it’s okay to grieve. But don’t let it eat you alive. Don’t just think about the ones you didn’t save, think about everyone who made it home tonight thanks to you. And, uh, don’t blame yourself for something you wouldn’t blame me for if I’d done the same thing.”

He paused for a moment.

“He’s not going to be the last one, you know that. You’re not going to save everyone. All we can ever do is our best, and hope it’s enough that day.”

Tony felt Peter nod, but also relax in his hold.

Neither of them said anything for a long time. Tony started thinking the kid might have fallen asleep, but then noticed his fingers softly tracing patterns into Tony’s shirt.

“What are you thinking about?” Tony mumbled, and Peter’s hand stopped.

“His parents. His family. I know what you said, I just- What would they say if they saw me? Would _they_ blame me?” Peter sighed, and Tony shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, thoughtful, and then gently ruffled Peter’s hair, “but I think if that little García boy from the alley was here right now he’d tell you something like _‘qué bonito es ver la lluvia y no mojarse.'_ ”

Peter gave a wet laugh and Tony chuckled, neither particularly happy, but bittersweet. Accepting. For now, that would do.

“Mr Stark, if I keep all that in mind, will you follow your own advice, too?” Peter asked, the look in his eyes knowingly pleading as he leaned away to look Tony in the eye. He should’ve figured. _Damn, perceptive kid,_ Tony thought, and gave wide smile.

“Are you implying _I_ have a guilt complex?” he asked, feigning surprise. Peter’s deadpan was a sight for sore eyes after seeing him so miserable.

“A model example.”

“Touché.”

At Peter’s expectant look he relented.

“I’ll do my best to,” he promised, truthfully, and Peter seemed content with that.

“We can learn to follow it together.”

**Author's Note:**

> On the translations side you should know I'm not a Spanish speaker and I relied on the internet for this so if I'm wrong about something please do correct me! But:  
> aquí - here  
> cariño - sweetie  
> Sra is a short form of señora, like Mrs or Ms
> 
> The proverbs:  
> Al mejor escribano se le va un borrón - To the best scribe comes a smudge. (Meaning even the best of us make mistakes; Nobody's perfect.)  
> Qué bonito es ver la lluvia y no mojarse - How nice it is to see the rain and not get wet. (Meaning don't criticize others for the way they do something unless you've done it yourself.)
> 
> THAT ASIDE.  
> Tony assumed the shop to be Sebastian's mother's because its name was García's. You know, like Delmar's. But... but García's. 
> 
> (I had some notes I think I wanted to add but seriously it's 1am as I'm writing this and I've forgotten them. Will add when I remember. )
> 
> Anyways, as usual THANK YOU SO MUCH for taking your time to read this fic, and leave me a comment to know what you think (feedback makes be cry happy tears!)


End file.
